


The Nightingale's Song

by TheNightComesDown



Category: Little Women Series - Louisa May Alcott
Genre: American Civil War, F/M, Medicine, Nurses & Nursing, Nursing, little women au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2020-09-26 19:23:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20394874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNightComesDown/pseuds/TheNightComesDown
Summary: At 16 years of age, Josephine "Jo" March leaves home to serve as a civilian nurse in the American Civil War. While working in a Union Army hospital, she meets Theodore "Laurie" Laurence, a young soldier who was wounded in battle.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> American Civil War AU - I've done some research on common medical practices during the Civil War, but by no means intend to feign expertise on the matter. As well, I have taken liberties with timeline and storyline of Louisa May Alcott's 'Little Women', as is the point of fan fiction!

Having finished her breakfast earlier than usual, civilian nurse Jo March laid out a piece of parchment on the table before her, and set to writing a letter back home to her family in Massachusetts. Over her shoulder she swept her brown-copper hair, not yet tied back for the day, and leaned forward, fountain pen in hand. Jo tapped the pen thoughtfully against her bottom lip, trying to decide how to begin her letter. She shifted away from the window, allowing the early morning sun to light the page before her, and dipped her pen into the black inkwell.

_Dearest Marmee, _

_ I hope above all things that this letter finds you and my sisters in good health. Last we spoke, there was a dreadful cold sweeping through the village, and it is my greatest wish that you have all kept well – my little Beth especially. _

_ Here at the hospital, I am kept busy my entire shift, tending to soldiers who are ill or injured. I will not write of anything dreadful, for I know how such talk turns dear Meggy’s stomach. I will say, however, that the typhoid fever is quite rampant on the field and in hospital, and I am doing my best to keep things clean on our ward to prevent its spread. My patients are mostly young men, but there are a few closer to Father’s age. I thank our Heavenly Father daily that Father is not an infantryman, for to be in the mud day and night would be a dreadful thing. _

_ I must keep my letter short, for I have yet to dress for the day, but I send my love to you all at home, and pray daily for each of Father’s little women (and you too, of course, Marmee). Affectionately your… _

_ Jo_

The head nurse rapped her knuckles against Jo’s little table, calling for the girl’s attention. Startled, Jo glanced up quickly from her letter, nearly knocking over the little inkbottle beside her hand. The older nurse’s face was stern, but her blue eyes had a genteel twinkle in them that Jo quite liked the look of. 

“Miss Josephine, it’s time to dress for the day,” Nurse Marie reminded her. “There will be time later to post your letter, but for now, I’d ask that you please pin your hair back and find a clean apron. The night nurses have worked plenty hard, and are in need of relief.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Jo responded, standing up from her chair quickly. Nurse Marie nodded and watched the teen as she ran down the length of the dining hall, clutching her letter in one hand, and the skirt of her nightgown in the other. The heels of Jo’s boots clacked loudly against the floor, causing heads to turn towards her. 

“What an odd child,” Nurse Marie thought to herself, “Running and jumping as she does. Always full of energy, that girl.” 

In the bunkroom upstairs, which housed nine other young women, Jo slipped into her plain calico dress and a clean, white apron as quickly as she could. Because she was so tall and thin, the hospital’s seamstress had been forced to make up a special pattern just for her; otherwise, her uniform dresses would be much too short, and that was hardly appropriate for a nurse working amongst men. As her elder sister Margaret had shown her, Jo twisted her hair into a bun just above the nape of her neck, making sure to pin her cap just so to prevent her hair from falling into her eyes as she worked. 

“If I were vain, I might say that this uniform suits me quite well,” Jo thought, glancing at her reflection in one of the upstairs windows. Being averse to vanity, however, the thought left her mind in the time it took her to run down the wooden staircase of the great house, skipping two stairs at a time. When her boots struck the stone at the bottom of the stairs, Jo looked up just in time to catch a disapproving glance from one of the other head nurses. 

“Nurse March, see to it that you quiet down,” the woman scolded. Jo ducked her head in apology, and did her best to walk briskly but not too fast towards the front door of the house. Waiting for her there were several other young nurses, with whom Jo worked in the nearby army hospital. 

“Good old Jo’s here just in time,” one girl proclaimed. “Matthew’s pulled the wagon ‘round already; let’s be off at once.” The girls, each dressed similarly in simple dresses and aprons, left the warmth of the house behind and stepped up into the horse-drawn wagon waiting outside for them. The driver, a shy boy of 13, held the horses steady as the group of eight clambered up onto the wooden benches of the wagon. As she usually did, Jo took her place beside the driver, eager to learn the art of managing horses on the road. 

“Morning, Nurse March,” the young fellow greeted her, carefully keeping his eyes trained forward. Jo was the only one of the young nurses who dared speak to him, and he was just beginning to get over the nervousness she caused him. 

“And a good morning to you, too, Matthew,” Jo replied amiably. “How are the horses today?” 

“Well, ma’am,” was his reply. He took the reins in his hands and clucked his tongue, encouraging the two draft horses to be on their way. After a few minutes of silence, Matthew cleared his throat and spoke once more to the girl beside him. “Bill and Jack appreciated the treat you brought for them the other day, Miss.” 

“They work so hard for us, I thought they might like something a bit more special than oats and corn,” Jo said, smiling. “Jack seems to prefer carrots to apples, but good old Bill doesn’t mind either way.” 

The horses followed the dirt road as it rounded a large hill, which took the wagon out of sight of the house. After glancing over his shoulder to check on the women seated in the back of the wagon, Matthew passed the reins over to Jo without a word. He reminded her with gentle hands and short instructions on how to hold them, and trusted that she could manage fine on her own until they reached the fork in the road about a half-mile ahead. 

In the wagon, the sleepy-eyed girls chattered mildly, clutching woollen shawls around their shoulders for warmth. As usual, the topic of conversation was of some handsome young officer who had come into the hospital for treatment earlier in the week, and whether they thought him married or not. Jo had decided early on in her service not to engage in such talk with the other nurses, for she knew Marmee would be greatly displeased with her for doing so. _Thou shalt not gossip_ was not one of the Ten Commandments listed in the little book her mother had given her last Christmas, which she faithfully read every evening by candlelight, but it might as well have been, for Jo took the matter very seriously. 

“Do you miss your family terribly, Nurse March?” Matthew asked suddenly, breaking the silence. Surprised to hear him speak, Jo’s eyes flickered toward the boy for a moment, before shifting back onto the road ahead. 

“At times, yes,” she said truthfully. “Mostly, I miss my Father. I haven’t seen him in more than a year now, and I worry very much for his safety. He is a chaplain with the Union Army, and serves somewhere in the Virginias, I believe.” Matthew nodded in understanding. 

“My brothers are all older than me, and were able to join the army,” he told her; a note of sadness coloured his voice. “I was too young to enlist, but Mother allows me to stay with her brother so I can drive a wagon for the hospital.” 

“Well, I’m very glad for your service, Matthew,” Jo said gratefully. “Without young men such as yourself, the hospital would surely be in a tight position.” She nudged the boy with her shoulder in a gesture of sisterly affection. 

“It’s really nothing, Miss,” he assured Jo, his cheeks flushing with pleasure at her comment. It was a simple thing for her to say, but made the boy feel as though he really was doing something as important as his brothers were. 

“Oh, here we come. Remind me of what to do here, Matthew, or I’ll surely run us all straight into the trees,” Jo proclaimed, gripping the reins tight in her hands. The boy chuckled softly, and instructed Jo to both loosen her hold on the leather straps, and steer gently by tugging the reins in the direction she wished to go. Old Bill nickered as the strap guided his head toward the right side of the upcoming fork, and Jack followed his partner’s lead as he responded to Jo’s command. 

“That’s all there is to it, Nurse March! Well done,” Matthew praised. Jo smiled wide, pleased with herself for having avoided the only possible complication on the drive. Another mile, and the group would find themselves outside the hospital. 

* * * * * 

The hospital Jo served in was a repurposed tobacco warehouse. The red brick walls stood five storeys high, and the space within provided nearly 500 beds for injured Union soldiers. The floors were split into wards, where different types of injuries and illnesses were treated; gunshots, burns, lacerations, infections, shell shock. Jo, having not trained as a nurse prior to beginning her job at the hospital, worked with less serious injuries. She had picked up many useful skills in the three months she had served already, but did not have the extra knowledge required to treat complex wounds – this was left to career nurses, field physicians and surgeons. 

Jo found herself assigned to her favourite of the rehabilitation wards, which she was very pleased about. The patients, all younger men, were typically talkative, able to eat on their own, and capable of using the chamber pot with limited assistance. Her duties would include providing meals, doling out medication for mild pain, assisting patients to ambulate, removing sutures (as ordered by the physician), and cleaning and dressing simple wounds. 

The men liked Jo’s kind eyes, her free spirit, the way she could capture an audience with the stories she invented, and her tendency to laugh exuberantly at all the jokes they told her. She was a favourite nurse on every ward she’d worked, but several of the men on this ward had been patients for the past month, and Jo had gotten to know them well. 

She spent her morning chatting with her patients, and making a list of tasks she’d need to complete by the end of her shift. One of the men who had been transferred to her ward the week prior needed to have his sutured knee wound examined, and this was at the top of Jo’s priority list. An infected wound could easily spell death for a soldier, especially a wound that had been exposed to the dirt and grime of the battlefield. Once she’d made her rounds, Jo pulled up a seat at the bedside of Corporal Theodore Laurence, cleaning supplies in hand. 

“Good morning again, Corporal,” Jo greeted the young man, whose nose was stuck in a book. “How are you today?” The fellow dog-eared the corner of his page and set the book aside, giving his nurse his full attention. 

“Much better than last week, Nurse March,” Laurence replied, smiling up at Jo. His black eyes crinkled at the corners when he grinned, and his teeth were surprisingly white. “And please, call me Laurie, won’t you? No one ever does anymore, except my grandfather when he sends me letters.” 

“You know I’m not supposed to, Corporal,” Jo scolded gently, arranging her kit on the table beside Laurie’s bed. “But I understand your feelings on the matter. The other nurses rarely call me by my Christian name, and at times I miss hearing it.” 

“And what might that name be, Nurse March?” Laurie inquired innocently. 

“If you’ll sit still and let me look at this knee of yours, maybe I’ll tell you,” Jo said, a hint of teasing in her voice. Laurie seemed pleased by this proposition, and in response, shifted his blankets aside. His trousers had been cropped so that they covered his upper legs, but provided easy access to his wound so it could be cleaned each day. Over the wound was a cotton pad, which was secured by a wrap of similar material. Jo poured sterile water over the gauze to prevent it from sticking and tugging at poor Laurie’s healing skin. The young man inhaled sharply as the cold liquid dripped down his leg and onto the absorbent pad Jo had placed beneath his leg. 

“You must have fetched that water from a glacier, Nurse!” he exclaimed, forcing his teeth to chatter as a joke. Jo rolled her eyes and shook her head, but Laurie noticed the slight smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. 

“On the contrary, I brought it down from the supply cupboard,” Jo responded. She cut through the gauze wrap with a pair of clean scissors from her kit and deposited the soiled gauze into a small bin beside the bed. “Now let’s have a look at your knee, shall we?” Laurie and Jo both held their breath as she peeled back the cotton pad, and when the sutured cut beneath had no signs of infection, they both breathed out a sigh of relief. 

“How does it look to you, Nurse March?” Laurie asked, leaning forward to get a better look. His dark curls brushed Jo’s forehead, and his head blocked out the light she needed to inspect the wound thoroughly. 

“Can’t see much with your head in the way,” she complained good-naturedly. Laurie wrinkled his nose in apology and leaned back against his pillows. Jo patted his leg in silent thanks. She cocked her head to the side and took a good look at the edges of the wound, which appeared to be knitting together nicely. There was no redness indicating inflammation, and no yellow-green pus to signal infection. All in all, Laurie’s battle injury appeared to be healing nicely. 

“Well?” Laurie said excitedly. “Can you take these stitches out?” Jo bit her lip thoughtfully, and after another moment, decided that the physician should be the one to decide. After all, he had done thousands of them by now, and had much more experience around healing wounds and infections. 

“Let me call the doctor, and he’ll have a quick look, alright?” Jo was quite certain that taking out the sutures was the right call, but for Laurie’s sake, wanted a second opinion. “That knee of yours has to do its job another seventy years, you know, so I don’t want to make any mistakes.” 

“I appreciate that, Miss…” Laurie said expectantly, quirking a dark eyebrow. He had behaved himself as instructed, and now wanted his reward. Jo took one look at her patient’s mischievous smirk and couldn’t help but give him what he had earned. 

“My mother named me Josephine, but my sisters and friends call me Jo,” she shared, keeping her voice quiet. “Now don’t be passing that around to other patients, or I’m certain to be in heaps of trouble with the head nurse. She’s a very strict woman, and always has it in for me because I laugh too much, or something of that sort.” 

“Cross my heart, Nurse Jo,” Laurie promised solemnly. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo receives news of Laurie's discharge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't have a chance to read over the whole chap before posting, but I'll give it a thorough edit tomorrow! Just wanted to get it out for you all as soon as I could!

If anyone wanted to find Nurse Jo during her lunch break, all they’d need to do was listen for the girl’s low, melodic whistle, which was usually accompanied by the scratch of paper against paper as she turned the page of her novel. Jo rarely turned up to work without a book tucked into the pocket of her apron. On this particular day, Jo sat in a seldom-visited area of the hospital, a makeshift storage hall, upon a stack of crates filled with medical supplies. She leaned her back against a brick wall for support, and whistled away as she pored over her book. The large windows of the tobacco factory-cum-hospital let in plenty of light, which Jo knew would please her family’s housekeeper, Hannah, if she were here; when Jo had lived at home, she had often been scolded by the maid for reading in the dark.

_Dear old Hannah,_ Jo thought, smiling to herself. _I never thought I’d go a day without her fussing over me. And look at me now – I’m nearly a woman grown, and here I am, still thinking about what she’d say if she were here._ As Jo’s thoughts shifted away from life at the hospital and back home to Concord, she felt a touch of heartache bloom in her chest. How dearly she missed her sisters, and Marmee, too! 

“Now don’t you go crying over such things, Jo,” she spoke aloud, willing herself to maintain her composure. “You can cry about your books, if they’re particularly heart-wrenching, but if you go thinking about all the things you miss about home, you’ll flood this whole building with your silly tears.” As she set her book aside and wiped at the moisture beneath her eyes with a clean handkerchief from the pocket of her dress, the echoes of a soft, woody click became audible in the adjoining hallway. Jo had just enough time to dry her tears before a familiar curly-haired gentleman appeared in the doorway, hobbling along with the support of a crutch, which was tucked beneath his right arm. 

“Funny seeing you here, Nurse Jo!” Laurie exclaimed, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her familiar face. “I thought we’d seen the last of each other, but here we are.” 

“Oh, Corporal Laurence,” Jo cried, jumping to her feet. “How lovely it is to see you up and walking!” She set her hands on his shoulders and looked him up and down, pleased to see how well he had healed. Instead of the soiled clothing he had been in while a patient in the infirmary, he was dressed in a crisp cotton shirt and a pair of grey wool trousers. How different Laurie looked when he was healthy! 

After their initial meeting, Jo had been Laurie’s nurse a handful of times, and had even visited him several times on her days off. The two had instantly bonded over their love of the written word, though Laurie much preferred hearing a story read aloud to reading it himself. After much pleading and gentle harassment, he had managed to convince Jo to read Mary Shelley’s _Frankenstein_ at his bedside, which had been a treat both for him and the other men on his ward. The voices Jo created for each character were hilariously dramatic, and at times had sent him into fits of laughter so long she was forced to stop in the middle of her sentence until he was able to quell his mirth. 

“Come now, Jo, set your book aside for a few minutes and walk with me,” Laurie requested, leaning against his crutch. “I’ve only got a day or so before I leave the hospital for good, and I’d hate to go without seeing you one last time, now that I know I’ve got the chance.” He offered her a hand up and regarded her hopefully. Tucking her novel in the pocket of her apron, Jo accepted his hand, which she traded for the crook of his arm, and followed his lead back out towards the hospital’s main corridor. They took their time, allowing Laurie to walk at whatever pace he needed in order to shift his crutch in tandem with his healing leg; it wouldn’t do to re-injure the limb by pushing him too hard during his period of convalescence. 

“You’ll be returning to your family now, I suppose,” Jo murmured, glancing up at her companion. “I’m sure your mother and father miss you dearly.” Laurie’s pace faltered for a moment, and Jo grasped his arm tighter in anticipation of him pitching forward into a fall. 

“I’m alright,” Laurie assured her, “just lost my footing for a moment, that’s all.” He was silent for a few more steps, contemplating her question. Twice he opened his mouth, but his words caught in his throat. Jo made no comment, understanding that for many young men injured in the war, it was difficult to return home; many of his friends might still be out on the battlefield. Laurie had never given her the impression that he was ashamed of his injury, but she was cognizant of the possibility nonetheless. 

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want,” Jo said apologetically, patting Laurie’s arm gently. “I just realized that I’d never asked where home was for you.” _How stupid of me,_ she thought, silently kicking herself. _Of course I’ve gone and said something I shouldn’t have. Laurie looks devastated._

“No, I don’t mind,” Laurie shook his head; his eyebrows were tightly furrowed, as though he were in pain. “My parents are both…gone. So I’ll be living with my grandfather in Massachusetts.” 

Laurie’s was an _orphan_? Not once in the long hours they’d spent in each other’s company had he ever mentioned his parents’ passing. He’d spun a thousand tall tales of his escapades across Europe with his father for Jo’s amusement, and had spoken with such love for his mother’s beautiful voice, her kind heart. How could he have kept such a thing a secret for so long? 

“Oh, Corporal,” Jo cried, “I’m so sorry. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have asked at all.” She held tight to Laurie’s arm, begging his forgiveness with a brush of her fingers against the skin of his hand. 

“Don’t feel badly, Jo,” Laurie frowned down at her, “it wasn’t recent. My mother died of fever when I was a young boy, and my father passed shortly after I joined up with the Union.” His dark eyes held her gaze, and somehow, Jo felt her embarrassment begin to dissipate; Laurie’s presence was calming, reassuring. “I would have told you, if we’d had more time to talk when last we met,” he promised. Unconsciously, Jo clutched tighter to his arm and shifted closer to him as they continued along the hall. 

“Tell me about your grandfather, then,” she insisted, sniffing back the few tears that had been threatening to spill over as she recovered from the sudden reveal of his parents’ passing. “Is he quite old?” 

“He’s a widower, and both his children – my father and aunt – have died, and I think he figures my presence might provide him a bit of joy in his older years,” Laurie mused. “I wrote to him while I was in the infirmary, and he’s agreed to have me stay on for at least a year. It’ll give me time to recover from this silly wound, and perhaps the old chap and I will get along so well, I’ll never want to leave.” While Laurie’s words were hopeful, his tone held a note of sarcasm; he seemed rather sceptical that his grandfather would like him. 

“That will be quite a change, I’m sure,” Jo responded diplomatically, “but I’m certain your grandfather will find you to be a suitable companion, so long as you never tell him any of your jokes, and you mind your manners.” Laurie’s jaw dropped, and he regarded her in mock offense. 

“I beg your pardon, Nurse, but my jokes are _always_ first rate,” he protested, pinching Jo’s arm playfully. Jo yelped and swatted at his hand, but Laurie pulled it away too quickly. “_And_, I’ll have you know, my companionship would be a blessing to my grandfather, and to anyone else lucky enough to have it.” 

“Theodore Laurence, you’re a menace,” Jo said, scowling up at him. “But I dare say the man will love you for it.” 

“And do _you_ love me for it, Jo?” Laurie challenged her, a smug smile written across his face. 

“Hah!” Jo snorted, tossing her head at his impetuous and inappropriate question. “If you think a man can catch me that easily, even one as smooth as you, Laurie, you can think again.” Even as she said it, Jo felt heat rise in her cheeks. Though she refused to admit it to the other nurses – many who found it impossible to be in the same room as Laurie without seeming a blushing fool – even Jo wasn’t immune to his flirtatious comments and dark eyes. 

“Jo, I didn’t—you know me, I’d never—” Laurie stammered hopelessly, trying to backtrack. “I didn’t mean to insinuate that _literally_. I just meant…you know. You like me – as a friend, I mean …don’t you?” Laurie’s confidence had crumbled in an instant at the idea that Jo didn’t really care to spend time with him. 

“Of course I do, Laurie,” Jo insisted, coming to a halt. No one else remained in the hallway but the pair of them, which was as much privacy as they could hope for. “I really shouldn’t be saying this, and you know I shouldn’t,” she scolded, as annoyed at herself as she was with Laurie for forcing her to say it, “but I’ll miss you terribly when you leave. I can’t bear the idea of never seeing you again, Teddy.” For the first time, Jo voiced aloud the private nickname she’d given to Laurie, which she used when she wrote one of his jokes in her diary, or when she thought about him throughout her workday. Sensing the fragility of her disposition, Laurie refrained from commenting on her slip-up, choosing instead to reply to her admission of fear with compassion and understanding. 

“This won’t be forever, Jo,” Laurie promised, using the arm he wasn’t relying on for balance to pull her into a tight embrace. “It’s just goodbye for now. I’ve got to rest so this silly leg can heal, and you’ve got to patch up a thousand more soldiers so they can go home and annoy their grandfathers, too.” Jo stifled a laugh by pressing her face into the warmth of Laurie’s shoulder. 

“You’d better write to me, or else,” she said, her tone mildly threatening. “I’ll be bored to tears if I don’t get a letter a week.” Leaning down to rest his face in the crook of her neck, Laurie nuzzled his smiling lips into Jo’s hair just millimetres from the shell of her very ticklish ear. 

“I’ll spend my entire inheritance on postage if I have to,” he assured her, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to the corner of her jaw. “So long as you promise to keep sharing your stories, when you get the chance to jot them down, of course.” 

Laurie was one of the few people outside of her family that Jo had ever felt comfortable sharing her own writing with; he’d taken to her stories immediately upon reading the first one, and had begged her to give him more as she wrote them. She had taken to writing a chapter a day, and reading it to him when she visited each afternoon. He’d occasionally recommend a name for a character, or an interesting vice or virtue to add to a villain or a hero if the opportunity should arise. In the month since Jo had met Laurie, he had already influenced her writing in a way no person other than Marmee ever had. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Laurie saw movement in the doorway just down the hall, and he sprang back from Jo with what little athleticism he was capable of in his injured state. Alarmed, Jo drew in a sharp breath to chastise him for startling her, but she held her tongue when she heard the snap of a nurse’s shoes against the concrete floor. 

“Nurse March,” the woman called out in a sharp, accusatory tone, “Don’t you have somewhere to be right now?” 

“I was just finishing up my lunch break, Sister,” Jo replied, swinging around to face the woman. Sister Michael, a nun of at least 50 years of age, was in charge of overseeing all of the nurses – nuns and laywomen – on the floor Jo had been assigned to for the past two weeks. Her current expression, which was the same wrinkled-forehead frown she usually wore, detailed her displeasure with what she believed she had just walked in on. 

“And Corporal Laurence just happened to walk by as you were returning from your break?” Sister Michael inquired, arching an eyebrow with suspicion. 

“Actually, Sister, I came looking for Nurse March so I could say goodbye,” Laurie interjected politely. “I wanted to thank her for the _professional_ care she provided me during my convalescence.” The woman narrowed her eyes in disbelief at Laurie’s explanation. 

“And I was just wishing Corporal Laurence a speedy recovery, and the Lord’s blessing on his journey home,” Jo added. With one last glance up at Laurie, Jo turned around, straightened her apron, and made her way towards the staircase that led to the medical ward up the stairs. As her boot hit the top step, she heard Laurie’s raised voice as he spoke to Sister Michael, who was still standing careful guard in the corridor below. 

“I’m relocating to Concord, Massachusetts, Sister,” he said brightly, “to the home of my grandfather, Mr. James Laurence of 14 Plumfield Street.” His voice receded as Sister Michael ushered him down the hall, so by the time Jo had flown back down the staircase, Laurie was gone. 

_Concord?_ Jo thought, dismayed. _My family lives in Concord. All the people I love best, save Father, will be in Concord, and I’ll still be **here**._

“This war had better end soon,” Jo murmured, shaking her head.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think - hope to update soon!


End file.
